It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining (18 page)

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Authors: Ernest Hill

BOOK: It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining
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Chapter Twenty-two
I
t was ten minutes 'til eight, and I was exhausted and ready for bed. I said good night to my parents and went to my room. The curtains on my bedroom window were open and I could see the fading light of the moon cast upon my bed. I removed my shoes and pants, and in the stillness, I lay contemplatively upon my back, and the heaviness about my heart had subsided, and my spirit was light, and my heart was warm and for the first time in days I was happy. And no, I was not afraid nor was I worried. And my parents' concerns were not my concerns, and their reservations were not my reservations. And I was glad that I had gone to Omenita and I was glad that she had said yes, and I was glad that she would be my wife. And I felt complete now, and for the first time in days, I knew that I could close my eyes and sleep. And my sleep would be restful and my dreams would be peaceful, and my thoughts would be happy ones of us and the beautiful life we would share together.
In the nearby room, I could hear my folks talking and I knew they were not pleased but I did not care. Soon Omenita and I would move far away from this town. And once we did, her spirit, too, would be light, and her heart glad, and with us would reside the love and joy that up until now she had been afraid to allow herself to feel. And we would be happy together. And I would love her and cherish her for the rest of my life. And my love would make her strong. And her fears would subside. And her insecurities would dissipate. And she would see that I was not her father and she was not her mother and their love was not ours.
My window was cracked and I could feel the cool air seeping inside and I felt my face and my hands grow cold. I closed the window and pulled back the covers, and as I slid between the sheets, I heard Daddy say that he was going to go check on Grandpa Luke, then I heard the door open and shut, and I heard Mama's feet on the old, wooden floor moving toward the kitchen.
Then I dozed off and I must have slept sound for I neither heard nor saw anything until I heard Mama knock on my bedroom door. The sound startled me and I sat up in the middle of the bed and I could see the early morning light seeping through the curtains, and I was not aware of where the night had gone or when Daddy had returned. And neither was I aware of when Mama had gone to bed or when she had risen. And I smiled because for the first time in a long while, I had slept through the night, and my mind was fresh and my spirit was light and it was Saturday and not only was I free to spend the day with Omenita, but I was eager to see her and hold her in my arms and talk of our life together. And that is what I was thinking when I heard Mama's voice again.
“Maurice,” she said. I saw the door creep open and she poked her head through. “You up?”
“What time is it?” I asked, looking around drowsily.
“Little bit before seven,” she told me.
I sat up and looked about confused. “Is something the matter?” I asked her.
“I need to talk to you,” she said, “before I go to work.”
“Talk,” I said, “about what?”
“You planning on seeing that gal today?” she asked.
“Her name is Omenita,” I said.
“Don't get smart with me, mister.”
“I'm not getting smart,” I said. “I would just appreciate it if you would call her by her name. That's all.”
“You gon' see her or not?” Mama asked.
“I'm gon' see her,” I said.
“Well, I don't want her in this house while me and your daddy at work,” she said. “You hear?”
“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “I hear.”
I sat up against the headboard and Mama sat on the edge of my bed. I could hear Daddy moving around in the other room.
“You still planning on going through with this?”
“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “Why?”
“I just don't think you thought this thing through,” she said. “I don't think you've thought it through at all.”
“I have thought it through,” I said.
“You have?”
“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “I have.”
She stared at me for a moment.
“Where y'all planning on living?” she asked.
“Ma'am?” I replied. Her question had caught me off guard.
“After y'all marry,” she said. “Where y'all planning on living?”
“I don't know,” I said, then shook my head.
“You don't know?”
“Wherever I find a job,” I said.
She looked straight in my eyes for a moment, then asked, “And where do you figure that's gon' be?”
“I don't know,” I said.
“You don't know.”
“I'll figure it out after I finish school.”
“You still figure you gon' finish?” she asked me, and I could hear the skepticism in her voice.
“I graduate in May,” I said.
“Well I hope so,” she said. “Be a shame to get this close and let that gal get in your way.”
“I'm going to graduate,” I said.
“Well, I hope so,” she said again.
“I will,” I said. “Count on it.”
I saw Mama pause and look away as if she was thinking, but I knew she wasn't. She was just giving me time to ponder what she had just said.
“Y'all gon' start a family?” she asked.
“Hadn't talked about it,” I said.
“Hadn't talked about children?”
“Not yet,” I said.
“When you plan on talking about it?”
“I don't know,” I said.
“You don't know?”
“We'll work it out,” I said.
She paused again, and I knew she was trying to make me feel uncomfortable. I felt myself fidgeting; I felt myself looking away.
“She going back to Baton Rouge or she gon' stay here?”
“Here,” I said, then sighed.
“She said that?” Mama asked, the tone of her voice indicating doubt.
“No, ma'am,” I said, “but she will.”
“How do you know?” she asked, pressing me for an explanation.
“I just know,” I said.
“But you hadn't talked about it?”
“No, ma'am,” I said. “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Just hadn't,” I said.
Mama was silent again and I knew she was trying to make me feel uncomfortable again.
“Well,” she finally said, “when a woman marry, she usually want her own nest and she usually expects her man to provide it.”
I didn't say anything.
“She gon' keep working?”
“Yes, ma'am,” I said.
“She said that?”
“No, ma'am,” I said.
“Then how do you know?”
“She will,” I said. “At least until we get on our feet.”
“And how long you figure that's gon' be?” she asked.
“I don't know,” I said. “Why?”
“Hope you ain't depending on her working too long,” Mama said. “ 'Cause she don't seem like the kind of girl that'll work steady when she don't have to.”
“She'll work,” I said.
“What if she won't?”
“Then I'll take care of her.”
I heard Mama chuckle.
“What's so funny?” I asked.
“You gon' take care of her?”
“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “I am.”
I saw Mama shake her head. “That'll be the day,” she mumbled.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“That gal just like her mama.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“She like living in the fast lane.”
“She's not like that,” I said.
“Ain't she?”
“No, ma'am,” I said. “Not at all.”
“I been watching her,” Mama said. “That gal stay in the road. If she ain't ripping and running and wasting money on that little ole car she got, then she wasting it in them ole stores. Gal been on that job almost two years now and I bet she ain't got two nickles to rub together.”
“She's not like that,” I said.
“Oh, I think she is.”
“I don't,” I said.
“Well, I'd advise you to make sure,” Mama said, “before you tie a knot with your tongue you can't tear loose with your teeth.”
“I don't see her that way,” I said. “I don't see her that way at all.”
“I know you don't,” Mama said. “ 'Cause you looking at her with your heart and not with your eyes. And by the time you do see her, you'll be tangled up with a house full of children and a box full of bills.”
“Mama, on Thursday I'm going to marry her,” I said, “and there's nothing you or anyone else can say to change that. Nothing at all.”
“Well, I don't approve of it,” Mama said. “I don't approve of it one bit.”
“Sorry you feel that way.”
“Mark my words,” she said. “Before this is all said and done, you gon' regret the day you laid eyes on that gal.”
“I don't want to discuss this anymore,” I said.
“Maurice,” Mama said, “I swear, the way you act sometimes I think that gal done worked roots on you.”
“That's not it,” I said. “That's not it at all.”
“Well, I sho wish you would explain it to me.”
“It's simple,” I said. “She's all I've ever wanted.”
“Then you don't want much.”
“I'm not going to talk about this anymore,” I said.
I heard Mama sigh again. Hard this time.
“Well, you need to get up and get a move on.”
“A move on,” I said. “Why?”
“Your daddy waiting on you.”
“For what?” I asked, confused. “I'm not working today.”
“He wants you to drop him off.”
“I don't understand,” I said.
“He said you can keep the truck,” she explained. “In case you need to do some running around. Now come on,” she said. “Get a move on.”
“Yes, ma'am,” I said.
She turned to leave, then stopped. “I meant it,” she said. “I don't want that gal in this house while me and Nathaniel ain't here either.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I said so! That's why!”
She waited for me to respond, but I remained quiet.
“And don't get too far out of pocket,” she said, “because I'm gon' need you to pick me up from work today.”
“Yes, ma'am,” I said.
“I get off at one,” she said. “You can talk to Danielle then.”
“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “I will.”
“And Maurice.”
“Ma'am?”
“Don't be late.”
Chapter Twenty-three
I
dropped Daddy off at the diner, then I returned home, and after I had taken a bath and gotten a bite to eat, I drove to Omenita's house to talk to her about our marriage plans. When I knocked on the front door, I had not expected her to answer, and I was pleasantly surprised when the door swung open and I saw her standing before me in her housecoat and slippers. I smiled at her, and in turn, she smiled back at me.
“Is it alright if I come in?”
“Of course it is,” she said.
She stepped aside and I walked through and when I did, she immediately closed the door behind me. I looked around. The house was extremely quiet.
“Hope I didn't come by too early,” I said.
“You didn't,” she said. “Everybody's up.”
We made our way to the sofa and she sat down first, then I sat next to her. And when I did, I looked around the room. There was a bedroom pillow propped against the far arm of the sofa and there was a book lying face down on the end table closest to the pillow and I figured she had been lying on the sofa reading before I knocked. I glanced at the book then at her.
“Well,” I said.
“Well, what?”
“Did you tell him?”
She tilted her head and looked at me with narrowed eyes.
“Who?”
“Gerald,” I said.
“I told him,” she said, then looked away. I waited for her to say more but when she did not, I spoke again.
“Well, what did he say?”
“He didn't say anything.”
She looked down at the floor and I stared at the side of her face. Suddenly, I was concerned again.
“Is he gone?” I asked her
“Not yet,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I don't know,” she said.
“Well, when is he leaving?”
“Sunday, I guess.”
“You guess,” I said. “You don't know.”
“No,” she said. “Not really.”
“Well, I don't want you talking to him anymore,” I said. I waited. She didn't say anything. “Omenita!”
“I heard you,” she said.
“I'm serious,” I said.
“I already told you I wouldn't,” she said.
“When?” I asked. “When did you tell me that?”
“When I agreed to be your wife.”
There was a moment of silence and I saw her looking down at the floor again, and I leaned back against the sofa and stared toward the window seeing the soft rays of early sunlight seeping just beneath the curtains. I was still staring at the curtains when I heard her voice again.
“Did you tell your folks?” she asked me.
“I told them,” I said.
She paused a moment then resumed.
“And what did Miss Audrey have to say?” I hesitated, and in that moment of hesitation she answered for me. “Let me guess,” she said. “She tried to talk you out of it?”
“Something like that,” I said.
“I should have known,” she said, and as she spoke, I could hear the disappointment in her voice. I watched her rise and go to the window, then pull the curtains open and stare out into the streets. I moved behind her and put my arm around her. She turned to me, and I looked into her eyes.
“It doesn't matter,” I said.
“It matters to me.”
“It shouldn't,” I said.
“Well, it does.”
I looked at her, and her eyes began to water. I pulled her to me and she gently laid her head on my shoulder.
“Don't cry,” I said. “Please don't cry.”
“I want to be your wife,” she said, “but I can't take Miss Audrey.”
“You won't have to,” I said.
She lifted her head and looked at me, and I could see in her eyes that she wanted to believe me—no, she needed to believe me. I brought my hands up to her face and tenderly dried her eyes with the tips of my fingers.
“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly.
“I'm sure,” I said.
“I don't want to get married if you're not sure.”
“I'm sure,” I said again.
“It's either me or her,” she said.
“I know,” I said.
“And if it's me—”
“It is you,” I interrupted her.
“Well, I don't want her interfering in our life.”
“She won't,” I said.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
I saw her looking out the window again and she was looking well past the highway and far beyond the railroad tracks, and I knew she wasn't thinking about what she was seeing. She was thinking about us. She was thinking about our future.
“And I don't want to live with her.”
“We won't,” I said.
“And I don't want to live with my folks.”
“We won't.”
“And I don't want to live in this town.”
“We won't,” I said.
“I mean it. I want to get away from this place. As far away as we can.”
“We will,” I said.
“You promise?”
“I promise,” I said.
She laid her head on my shoulder again and began to cry. I put my arm around her and tried to comfort her.
“I love you,” I said.
“I know,” she said. “And I love you too.”
She looked up at me again, and I leaned over to kiss her and just as I did her mother entered the room.
“Miss Jones,” I said.
“Good morning, Maurice.” She came to me, and I hugged her, then kissed her on the jaw, and she immediately looked at me and smiled.
“Omenita told me the good news,” she said.
“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “We were just talking about it.”
“Well, I'm so happy for the two of you,” she said. “You're a fine young man, and Omenita is lucky to have you.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“You two should have such a fine life,” she said. “Provided you stick together and don't let nothing come between you.”
“Yes, ma'am,” I said.
I saw her look at Omenita. “That goes for you too, missy.”
“I know, Mama,” Omenita said. “I know.”
They looked at each other for a moment then Miss Jones turned her attention back to me.
“How are your folks?” she asked me.
“They're okay,” I said.
“Guess they're excited about the news.”
I smiled but didn't answer.
“When you see them again, please tell them that I said hello.”
“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “I will.”
“And tell Audrey I said we gon' have to get together soon.”
“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “I'll tell her.”
She left the room again and I directed my attention to Omenita. She had turned toward the window again and was staring out into the empty streets. I put my arms around her waist and gently kissed her on the back of her neck.
“Why didn't you tell her?”
“Tell her what?” I asked.
She turned and looked at me.
“How your folks really feel?”
“For what?” I asked.
She didn't answer. Instead, I saw her eyes cloud as if she was going to cry again. I sighed and I felt myself becoming frustrated.
“I just don't see the point,” I said
I waited, but she remained quiet.
“Does your daddy know?” I asked.
“Not that I know of,” she said.
“You didn't tell him?”
“No,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I didn't want to.”
“Why?” I asked.
She hesitated for a moment and I could see that she was pondering the question. Then she shrugged her shoulders and shook her head.
“I just didn't.”
“Well,” I said. “He is your father. And he does have a right to know.”
“He has no rights with me,” she said.
“Maybe your mom told him,” I said.
“She didn't.”
“How do you know?”
“I told her not to.”
“Why?” I asked.
I waited but she did not respond.
“Is he home?” I asked.
“Ought to be out back,” she said, “tinkering with that old truck.”
“In this weather?” I asked.
“He probably don't feel it,” she said. “By now, I don't imagine he feel anything.”
“Well, I think I should go out there.”
“That's up to you,” she said.
“He has a right to know,” I said.
“It's up to you,” she said again.
“Then I'm going to go talk to him,” I said. “It's only right.”
“Suit yourself.”
I went outside and made my way behind the house. Mr. Jones was standing before his old Ford truck. The hood was propped up and the top half of his body was bent underneath it. There was a bottle of white port sitting atop the cab. It was half empty. I approached the truck then stopped.
“Mr. Jones,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. He was in the middle of something and did not stop. I waited a moment thinking he might come out but when he didn't I spoke again.
“Like to talk to you,” I said. “If you have a minute.”
He raised up and looked back at me.
“About what?” he asked.
“Your daughter,” I said.
He paused. Then I saw him take the bottle from atop the truck.
“You want a drank?”
“No, sir,” I said.
“Well, I believe I do,” he said. He took a drink, then placed it back. I saw him look toward the house, then back at me. “What about her?” he asked.
“Last night we decided to go on and get married.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
He looked at me and his jaundiced eyes were bloodshot and his large pear-shaped head seemed unsteady.
“She did, hunh?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “She did.”
“Thought she was going to Texas with that other boy.”
“That was just a little misunderstanding,” I said.
“A misunderstanding?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
He looked at me then down at his tool box.
“Hand me that wrench yonder.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I retrieved the wrench and passed it to him. I saw him duck back underneath the hood. Then I heard him banging, and as I waited, a breeze stirred and I felt the cold wind on my ears, and I raised the collar of my coat until it was covering my ears, then I dug my hands deep into my pockets and hunched my shoulders against the cold. He banged a moment more then stopped.
“Think my battery done give out,” he said.
I didn't answer him.
He poked his head out and looked in my direction.
“You know anything about cars?”
“No, sir,” I said. “Not much.”
“It's the battery,” he said. “Then again it could be the cable.”
I remained quiet.
“Get in there and hit the switch for me.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I climbed in and turned the switch. I heard a click, then I heard him banging with the wrench again.
“Try her again.”
I heard a click and I heard him yell “that's good.” I climbed out and when I did, I saw him remove the bottle and unscrew the top, then take another drink.
“Yep,” he said. “It's the battery.”
I listened without responding.

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